


Roadblock

by HiroMyStory



Series: Snow Routes [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cabin Fic, Developing Relationship, Devil Face (Lucifer TV), F/M, Snowed In, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiroMyStory/pseuds/HiroMyStory
Summary: Lucifer plans a getaway to celebrate a year on solid ground with the Detective, but they discover they have issues yet to resolve in a far-too-small cabin.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Snow Routes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623904
Comments: 38
Kudos: 304
Collections: TDN's 2019 Secret Satan Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunalso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/gifts).



> Prompt was “snowed in.” Thanks to ariaadagio and Miah_Arthur for the brainstorming help. @sunalso: Hope you enjoy!
> 
> This story is canon-divergent and a sequel to my post-S3 fic, Detour (with Jigsaw Puzzles)--another "snowed in" fic. As such, season 4 hasn’t happened. Rather, about six months after the altercation with Pierce in the loft, Chloe and Lucifer worked out where they stood and got together. This story takes place one year after that.

Chloe threw her suitcase into the already-full trunk of the luxury SUV Lucifer had pulled into her driveway. _Several_ gifts littered the backseat as well, and she shoved her two-bags-full in, adding to the collection. She was tired from getting her cases in order and getting Trixie packed and off to Dan’s. Vacations were totally overrated when it was this much work to get going.

But she and Dan had promised Trixie last year that they would go back to her mom’s cabin. Secretly, Chloe feared that Trixie would be let down. What could beat “best Christmas ever!”? But she had the leave and so did Dan, after a long year. Even Ella had the leave—and for once wasn’t headed back to Detroit. Some fight she’d had with her brothers resulting in a hangdog look for the two weeks until Chloe had proffered an invitation.

It would all be good, Chloe’d told herself. The drive was almost ten hours, but they’d all stay four nights. Yes, it would be good. She’d almost lost herself in memories of last year. It would be very good.

Then Lucifer had sprung the plan of heading up a couple days early. He’d been giddy, delighted by his plan. An _anniversary_ —and that brought Chloe up short; how had it possibly been a year—and she couldn’t say no.

Lucifer was—no shock to Chloe— _not_ an ideal road trip companion. They stopped six times during what should’ve been a six hour drive. Once for gas, twice for snacks, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth time to see a ghost town, the Uniroyal Gal, and “Nightmare Rock,” respectively.

By dusk, the hum of the road was making Chloe’s eyes droop. Her head jerked up as Lucifer slowed and made a turn. Seeing parking lots and low building through the window instead of trees and slopes, Chloe realized she must have dozed for a few moments.

* * *

Bridgeport _barely_ counted as a town. Lucifer was questioning his choices as he slowed the SUV. The detective _claimed_ she liked places like this, but seeing it in person rather than in sunny, summer google images, he was beginning to have his doubts. But he’d arranged in advance for a carryout meal from the Canyon Grill and a prepared bag of groceries for the next day.

He caught the detective’s yawn as he pulled into the gravel lot.

“We’ll pick up dinney here, and it’ll be another fifteen minutes up the road to our snug little cabin.”

“Mmmmm.” Chloe stretched, pulling her arms above her head. “Sounds perfect. Mind if I wait here?”

He pulled his eyes away from watching the arch of her body. “I’ll just be a moment, my dear.”

In the restaurant, he dinged the bell at the empty host’s stand and took in the rustic decor. Yes, carryout had been the way to go. He dinged the bell until a young woman hurried out from the kitchen. He gave his name, ignoring her widened eyes, and watched her turn back the way she came.

He fussed with the jar of toothpicks and pile of spindled receipts and hummed a few bars of _Rebel Rebel_. It had been a good year with the detective. An effective partnership at work with the LAPD, and a _very fruitful_ partnership off duty. They’d established quite the rhythm, so to speak. He smiled, pleased with his double entendre and planning to share it with the detective later.

They had moved on from the mishap in the loft nicely—better than he’d anticipated, certainly. He’d been very careful to make sure his devil face had not made an appearance again. The rest, though, she’d turned out to be quite accepting of—especially the wings for which she’d developed a distinct fascination.

When the woman who'd greeted him returned, Lucifer peeled a couple of hundies off the roll in his pocket and exchanged them for the several bags of food she was carrying.

“Thank you!” she said.

Lucifer shrugged. It wasn’t like he wanted to handle _change_.

“Merry Christmas!” she called behind him as he shouldered open the door.

From Bridgeport, Lucifer turned the SUV onto a smaller road heading ther into the mountains. Next to him, Chloe poked into the bags of food to see what he’d gotten.

“Smells good,” she said, laughing when her stomach growled in agreement.

He shot her a grin before turning his attention back to the road. At the GPS’s prompting, he turned onto a drive to the right. The beams of his headlights illuminated a sign reading Piney Knob Cabins. Even though he knew the name of the place, he giggled at the sight.

“Really?” Chloe asked, more amused than surprised.

“It’s perfect, don’t you think? It’s not our little house on the lake, but a cozy cabin in the mountains to celebrate a year of _partnership_?”

“Perfect, yeah,” she agreed, and Lucifer’s smile grew wider.

The driveway curved to the right and spit them out on a gravel lot in a circle of nearly two dozen identical cabins, built all but side-by-side and looking more run down than quaint. The nearest one had a split-wood sign stuck in the ground in front painted with little fur trees and declaring “check-in” with an arrow pointing toward the door. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, and his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. This wasn’t at all like the pictures online, which had artfully photographed one cabin without capturing its neighbors. This place was very nearly a motel plopped down on the edge of the woods.

“Did the hill people decide to open a Motel 6?” he scoffed. “This bait-and-switch won’t do at all. We’ll find somewhere else suitable for—”

“It’s okay,” Chloe said, laying a hand on his arm. “I know it’s not what you had in mind, but it’s late and I’m hungry. We can decide whether we want to stay in the morning. We can always head up to my mom’s place early.”

He sniffed. “Fine, but if cannibals come after us in the night, I’m blaming you.”

* * *

It was the thought that counted, Chloe told herself. And, really, this had been a sweet one—and surprisingly nostalgic coming from Lucifer. Probably cribbed from a movie, as many of his attempts at “boyfriending” were. Yes, it was the thought that counted, she repeated to herself as she mediated between a sniping Lucifer and the woman working to check them in: Charlene who—as Chloe reminded Lucifer—just worked there and definitely could not turn the cabins into something they were not. She pulled him out the door as soon as she had the key to cabin #8 in hand.

Chloe walked across the gravel lot while Lucifer pulled the car into the spot for number eight. Four steps led up to a porch. Between the twilight and the low overhanging roof, the front door was cast in shadow. She fumbled with the key until it finally slid into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. She tried jiggling it, pulling the key out a little and trying again. It didn’t budge. She heard the porch creak under Lucifer’s weight as he joined her.

“It’s stuck. Can you…do your lock thingy?” She waved her hand in the direction of the offending entryway.

He chuckled and laid a hand on the wood…and the door swung open. Sometimes, it was convenient having the devil as her boyfriend. She ran her hand along the wall until she found a light switch which lit two floor lamps. The door opened onto the main room of the cabin. Surveying, she saw a bedroom to the right and the kitchen straight ahead at the back of structure. She pulled the key from the lock and helped carry their luggage and dinner inside. Once done, Lucifer stood in the middle of the room, apparently at a loss.

“Let’s eat,” she suggested, bringing the food into the kitchen.

Lucifer snatched a towel from the drying rack next to the sink and wiped down the table before he began pulling containers from the bags of carryout. Chloe folded her arms and leaned against the door frame, watching him, bemused by his fussing. He opened a cupboard and moued at the mismatched selection of plates before pulling out two.

He was outright muttering—something about charlatans—as he pulled open drawers looking for cutlery. Beyond the noise Lucifer was making banging the cabinetry, Chloe began to hear other voices outside. She couldn’t make out any words, but she was familiar enough with the bickering tone.

Lucifer glared at the window. “‘Private, rustic cabins’ indeed.”

“It’s okay, Lucifer. I’m glad to be here with you, regardless.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning up to place a peck against the corner of his frown. “And I _do_ appreciate the thought.”

He harrumphed, but she felt him relaxing against her. “I suppose we can rough it for one night.”

“I suppose we can,” she teased.

A screen door banged outside, causing Lucifer to startle, the plates clacking together in his hand. Chloe could make out the voices now. An man’s deep voice, rippling with rage, and a higher voice, a teenage boy or a younger man. Chloe’s cop instincts lit up like a Christmas tree. Whatever was unfolding was leagues beyond bickering.

“You absolutely useless little piece of shit. It was your job to get all the food packed in the car. A moron with less sense than two nickels could handle it, but not garbage like _you_.”

Chloe met Lucifer’s eyes. They were narrowed in anger, and his mouth drew tighter through the tirade they overhead. Then, a high yelp sounded, followed by the crack of splintering wood and a thud.

“Bloody Hell.” The backdoor squealed on its hinges as Lucifer wrenched it open and spilled onto the back porch.

Chloe followed through the open doorframe, leaning over the railing for a look since Lucifer’s tall form was blocking her view.

A lanky boy—she’d guess fourteen or fifteen—was sprawled in the dirt amongst the splintered remains of the railing from the back porch of the cabin next door. His right forearm was skinned, blood beginning to bead under the smear of dirt.

A rapid tromp, tromp, tromp down the wooden steps drew Chloe’s attention a burly, red-faced man descending on the boy. He grabbed a thin wrist and wrenched upward, letting the boy dangle by his shoulder when his feet tangled under him.

The boy found his feet and gasped, “S-sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Who do you think is going to pay for that? Not you, you freeloading piece of trash. I don’t know why I even keep you around.” The man raised his free hand, readying the blow, letting the boy see it was coming. The boy ducked his head away while he tried to yank himself free.

“Hey,” Chloe yelled as the backhand started to come down.

And Lucifer…Lucifer was on the big man, catching the falling arm in mid-arc.

* * *

Lucifer peeled the father’s fingers from the boy’s wrist, one by one. Once he was free enough to pull from the grip, the kid fell back clutching his wrist, eyeing the situation unfolding. Despite Lucifer’s grip, the man continued to glare at the boy, a look promising retribution to come. That simply wouldn’t do. Lucifer gave the man’s arm jerk, refusing him.

A snarl curling his lips, he turned to Lucifer. “You—”

But whatever he was going to say was lost when the boy lept to his feet and took off running between the two cabins. Lucifer heard Chloe’s boots in the dry leaves as she followed after.

“That’s right. Run boy. I know where to find you,” the father howled, uncowed by interfering strangers.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, focusing his attention back where it belonged, the hold on his temper slipping ther. He dragged the bastard up onto the porch with the broken railing. He let his arm go and caught him under his chin instead, shoving him against the cabin hard enough that the wooden shingles shook.

“Enjoy beating up on children, do we?”

“The boy is worthless,” the man spat. “And this is none of your business. Let me go, or I’ll…”

Lucifer felt the rising tide of heat inside himself. The man’s jacket caught and tore on the splintering shingles as Lucifer lifted him up. He grabbed at Lucifer hand as his heels scrabbled against the wood in his effort to find purchase.

“You’ll what?” Lucifer asked in a precise, even tone.

The man squealed as Lucifer’s eyes flared red and bright.

“What, exactly, will you do? What does a father do to a ‘worthless’ son?”

“He’s not—” The man gasped. “He’s not—”

“What? Good enough for you? Worth it?” Lucifer saw flames licking along the hand at his prey’s throat.

The quivering jaw tried to open once, twice, before: “My son.”

Lucifer stopped flighting his devil face, and the man’s scream was high and thin but satisfying nonetheless.

* * *

Chloe rounded the front of the cabin to find the boy hunched over on the steps, arms wrapped around his knees. The abrasion on his forearm was on full display, along with the dirt streaking one side of his face and both arms. Keeping her distance, Chloe knelt down to eye-level.

“I’m Chloe. I’m an LAPD detective, staying here on vacation. Will you tell me your name?”

“Jeremy.” He shivered in his jeans and t-shirt. “Jeremy Riesner.”

At the sound of a door opening behind her, Chloe stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Charlene from the check-in desk, bundled in puffy purple parka, was making her way over.

“Jeremy,” Chloe said, aiming for low and soothing. “Are you here with anyone besides your father?”

“Father?” Jeremy shook his head, rubbing his wrist. “He’s my uncle. My cousins and my other aunt and uncle are supposed to meet us here on Christmas Eve.”

The day after tomorrow. “Your parents?”

He shook his head again, his teeth chattering as he stuck his hands under his arms. “I live with my uncle.”

Charlene was hovering over her shoulder, wringing her hands. When Chloe glanced her way, she took it as her cue.

“Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?”

The uncle needed to be secured. “Do you have a first aid kit in the office?”

“Yeah, we can get that arm cleaned right up,” Charlene promised.

Chloe raised an eyebrow at Jeremy to check if that was okay, and he nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to check on his uncle. Charlene, will you call your sheriff’s office and ask them to send someone over?”

“Yeah, of course.” Charlene turned her attention to Charlie. “Come on in. It’s freezing out here, but plenty warm in the office.”

As Chloe began trotting back around the cabin, she heard a scream. She froze, glancing toward the office. Charlene and the boy were inside, and the door was shut and didn’t open. She raced around the corner, heart thumping.

The man Lucifer was pinning to the back of the cabin was weeping and thrashing, trying to get away from the iron grip at his throat. The sharp smell of urine assaulted her nose.

“Lucifer!” she shouted.

He turned, and her eyes widened. He was wearing his devil face. Red and raw and ridged. She hadn’t seen it since the day in the loft almost a year and a half ago. It was both less and more than she had remembered, and she found her breath catching in her throat. She’d wanted to ask him to see it again. Every time she skirted toward the topic, he brushed her aside, and the time had never seemed right to press the issue.

Now, though, now was not the time to study it. Regardless, his face flickered back to the one she was used to, painted with a look of surprised panic. He let go of Jeremy’s uncle who slid limp to the ground where he curled his head under his arms and pulled up his knees. His soft whimpers and hiccoughs were loud as she and Lucifer stared at one another.

“We...called the sheriff. Can you...” She glanced from Lucifer to the shuddering form on the peeling slats of the porch floor. “Can you get my handcuffs from my bag?”

Lucifer’s head jerked up and down as if on a string before he headed toward their cabin. But he paused as he passed her, his mouth opening and closing without finding whatever words he was looking for. He gave himself a shake. “Right, I’ll just grab the restraints, then.”

Chloe frowned as she watched him climb the steps. His jaw and shoulders were stiff, his usual ease of movement absent. Glancing at the huddled ball on the damaged porch, she judged Jeremy’s uncle wasn’t going anywhere soon and ran up the steps behind Lucifer. He froze, eyeing her.

“Lucifer?”

“Apologies, Detective.” He shook his head, and tugged at his cuffs. “I... I certainly didn’t mean for you to see that. I’m not…if we could just…” He took a step backwards, breathing too rapidly.

Chloe reached out, meaning to reassure, but he jerked away and, with a sudden _thwack_ , his wings unled, slapping both the railing and the cabin wall. He looked about as startled as she was.

“Lucifer!” She glanced in a panic at the man still whimpering on the porch next door. His arms were even more tightly wrapped around his head, and he was paying no attention. “What are you doing? Put those away!”

He’d gone pale, and his eyes were wide. “I didn’t mean…” He pulled the wings in close to his back as he did when he was preparing to make them disappear. He shrugged…and nothing happened. He tired twice more to no better effect. His brows drew together and his lips parted on shallow breaths. “I can’t…I don’t understand.”

Chloe bit her lip. Something was very wrong, but any curious guest could come to investigate the commotion at any moment—or even just pop onto the back porch of one of the nearer cabins for a poorly-timed smoke. “It’s okay. Look, we’ll figure it out, but please let’s get you inside.” Chloe pushed past him toward the door, giving one of his wings a gentle shove when it remained in the way. She opened the door and then hustled him through. Once he was in the kitchen, she flipped all the wooden blinds closed, blocking any view from the outside.

“Okay,” she said as much to herself as to him. “Okay.”

He was standing, staring at her, wings held close but still very much corporeal. She stepped into his space, taking ahold of his hands as he took two deep breaths.

“Okay,” she said again. “I want you to stay here and try to calm down. I need to go back outside, because the sheriff’s office has been called. I’ll secure our neighbor and wait for them to arrive, give a statement. Come join me when you can?”

“Of course, yes, of course,” he said through a stiff smile.

“It might be a little bit before it’s all handled.”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just need to sort this little sitch, and I’ll join you. Need to make sure our miscreant is sent to his proper punishment, after all.”

“Good.” Chloe unzipped her bag and dug under her clothes for the cuffs she’d thrown in at the last minute. She shrugged into her coat and took the badge from the inside pocket and clipped it on her belt instead.

“Detective, I _am_ sorry.”

She shook her head and tried to convey with a smile that all was well on her end, before she ducked out again.

Chloe waited with Jeremy’s uncle on the steps to the office. He was calmer now, but he leaned against the edge of the railing, as far from her as possible, staring at nothing in particular. Charlene peeked her head out to let Chloe know a deputy was on the way. A number of curious guests approached, as well. Most minded their own business when she pulled her coat aside to flash her badge, although she suspect more than a few were watching through their blinds.

Glancing at her phone, Chloe saw she’d been waiting almost half an hour. Lucifer hadn’t made an appearance, and she was about to text to check on him when a car marked Mono County Sheriff rolled around the curve. It was another hour-and-a-half later when she’d finished giving a statement and seen Christopher Riesner turned over into county custody. Another twenty minutes after, that a second deputy had taken Jeremy to town to wait while they tried to contact his aunt.

After both cars had disappeared, Chloe inhaled deeply and looked up, only to find her breath caught. The night had slipped to full dark and the moon had yet to rise. The sky was brimming with more stars than she remembered seeing in a very, very long time.

A hand touched her sleeve. She jerked, her heart skipping a beat, having been so lost in the moment she hadn’t heard Charlene join her.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? Hard to believe it’s supposed to snow all night. Do you need anything else, honey? Otherwise, I’m going to tuck in.”

Chloe blinked her way back into the moment. “No, no. I’m good. Thanks for the help tonight.”

The cabin door was still unlocked when Chloe reached it. She nonetheless gave a knock and said, “it’s me,” before pushing it open. The lights were off again, and she heard a rustling in the dark. She bolted the door and flipped the switch.

He stood in front of her, eyes still too wide, and the ends of his wings shook, betraying the slight tremor running through his body.

“Lucifer, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t…I can’t put them away.” He glanced over his shoulder at the offending wings. “It…doesn’t make sense.”

Chloe wasn’t sure what she could offer. This part of his life remained far outside her understanding. Stuck…angel wings? She stepped closer, placing her hand against his jaw, cupping it firmly until she felt the tremors subsiding. “We’ll figure it out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Chloe and Lucifer talk and decide maybe some distraction is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a good bit of smut. And wings. And wing smut. If that's less your thing and you want to skip forward, you can skip to the ***** and continue with the story. Otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> My very great thanks to ObliObla for the beta help on this.

The fried chicken dinner form the Canyon Grill was stone cold by the time Chloe set the plates on the kitchen table. Lucifer turned a chair sideways to give his bloody wings space. He held them in close to fit the kitchen and could feel his longest feathers dragging on the floor when he sat. He must look ridiculous. He sighed, and the wings drooped further.

Chloe looked up from uncorking a bottle of red. He thought she might be trying to hide a smile and wondered if he should be offended.

“Let’s just eat and see how things are later,” she said. She poured the wine into what looked like two juice glasses. “Okay?”

He shrugged, one wing following the movement. He supposed she was right. Perhaps a little time and relaxation was all he needed to sort out this bizarre malfunction. Besides, he did feel peckish, and he was definitely thirsty. He raised the juice glass, giving it the disdainful look it deserved.

“Cheers,” Chloe said, lifting her own glass.

They ate in relative silence. Lucifer stole several glances her way throughout the meal, but Chloe seemed both unperturbed and quite hungry. Lunch _had_ been many hours ago.

When Chloe put down her fork and looked up at him, Lucifer could tell she’d been thinking. Before she could speak, Lucifer refilled their glasses and raised his again. The distracted way she clinked her glass against his told him she wouldn’t be detoured.

“So…” Chloe began, setting down her glass. “Has anything like this ever happened before?”

“Nope. Never.” He emphasized each word.

“Any theories then?”

He twisted his fork between his fingers while he thought. “It doesn’t make any sense.” He looked down and blinked in surprise. The fork was bent in half. He put it down hastily. “I didn’t mean to bring my wings out at all.”

“Well…” She leaned across the table to wrap his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers. Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip. “Sometimes they pop out when you’re, um, excited. I mean,” she hastened to add, “I know that wasn’t going on earlier. But have you ever…lost control of them outside of, uh, a bedroom situation.” Her cheeks were flaming.

She was adorable when she was awkward, and his heart seemed to miss a beat. He squeezed her fingers back and considered her question. “Once or twice, when I’ve been angry. But not often and they’ve certainly never gotten _stuck_.”

“Were you angry when they…” She gestured vaguely beyond his shoulders.

He focused on the moment on the porch, right before the surprise of his wings manifesting and shook his head. “I wasn’t angry when they…” He flapped his fingers out in pantomime. “Certainly I _had_ been angry—furious, even. It’s why I…showed him.” He gestured toward his face. It had been less of a decision than that made it sound, but it was close enough. “Just then, though, I’m not sure what I was feeling. But it wasn’t anger.”

She frowned. “That kind of abuse is awful. What Christopher Riesner said was awful. It’s entirely understandable if you’re still upset, especially given—”

“Detective, I do know that not every abusive parent is my Father.” His jaw snapped shut. That’s not what he’d been thinking about outside, and he hadn’t meant to say it now. The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking about that maggot at all when his wings had put in their unexpected appearance. His rising tide of panic at losing control in front of her had blotted all that out.

“Well, how are you feeling now?”

Tilting his head, he tried to assess. Naming emotions was not his strong suit. “Annoyed. Irritated. Inconvenienced.” His hand in hers twitched, and she held on tighter. “Maybe…confused, concerned?”

“That’s understandable.” Her eyes swept the length of his wings and back to his face. “So we don’t know why they manifested, much less why they’re stuck.”

Lucifer poked his tongue against his closed teeth. He was likely doing this to himself for some bloody reason. He knew that. _Why_ however was alluding him. He needed to be moving. His chair screeched along the floor as he pushed back from the table.

“I need a smoke.” He turned so she wouldn’t see his fingers shake as he fished his cigarettes from his jacket.

Cold air hit his face as he cracked open the back door, but he couldn’t escape further, what with the feathery nuisances his wings were currently making of themselves. Flicking open his lighter, he lit his ciggy and drew a long, soothing coil of smoke into his lungs.

He set the lighter and cigarettes on the counter next to him. Behind him, he could hear Chloe moving dishes into the sink. Heard the tap come on. He should help. Would in a minute.

Wasn’t it enough that he’d stopped fighting the wings?

He stared into the darkness. It was so much more still and quiet than the city ever was. When his smoke had burned down to the filter, he considered lighting another, but he no longer heard the water running.

Lucifer turned his head, looking past shoulder and wing. Chloe was sitting at the table, tapping at her phone, a tender smile on her face. The urchin, almost certainly. His wings rustled as he turned back into the room.

Her eye flicked up, so full of warmth his chest hurt. “It’s starting to snow,” he told her.

“Charlene said it was going to.” She stood and tucked her phone into her pocket. “It’s getting cold. Why don’t we—” She tilted her head toward the main room.

He pushed the door shut and made his way to her side. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, he felt hers come around him in turn, the backs of her fingers brushing against feathers. He hummed against her warmth after the cold of the night on his skin.

“I _am_ sorry,” he said, adding at her questioning look, “For this. And for earlier, too.”

“Earlier? What do you mean?” She tilted her head, brow creasing.

“I didn’t mean for you to see that. My devil face, I mean.” He studied her for signs of reaction, but she remained placid, some hair loose from her ponytail tucked behind her ears and blue eyes shining. Beautiful. He thought back to the six months that they’d barely been work partners after he’d last shown it to her and to the joy of the year since. He didn’t want to go back.

“It’s fine, Lucifer, really. I’m fine.” She looked down. “I know I didn’t react so well the first time—”

But he shook his head. “I don’t want…I…let’s just forget about all that. No reason to let a little devilish flareup ruin our trip?” He wasn’t really sure how to explain to himself much less to her. But there was a part of him that was terrified of losing her. It was something of a miracle— _ha_ —that she’d accepted him again, and he didn’t want to give her any reason to change her mind. After all, there was no reason for her to see his devil face.

“I’d like it if you’d show me sometime.”

His head jerked as she echoed his thought, inverted. “There’s no reason for that,” he insisted, not quite meeting her eyes.

She sighed. “If that’s what you want, but…look, I’m okay, you know? Really, I am.”

The way she looked at him…he could tell she was waiting for a response, but his throat felt tight. His chest, too. A most unpleasant sensation. His eyes darted around the dingy kitchen until they landed on the hideous, kitschy clock adorning the wall to her right. Its maker had intended the general shape of a cabin, and roughly carved fir trees and pinecones circled the clock face. Two cartoonish bears hung from cords in imitation of weights—as if this monstrosity could be anything but battery-operated. One’s snout had been snapped off, and the other was missing a paw.

He looked down at her, ready to share his scathing thoughts on the interior decorating, but the words evaporated at her soft smile. He swallowed and nodded.

Her eyes slid to his wings. “But, yeah, maybe a little normal would be good.”

“Good. Yes,” he agreed, a relieved smile pulling at his lips. Perfect, even.

Chloe took his hand, pulling him into the main room. While she dimmed the table light, he surreptitiously tried to retract his wings again. And again they remained stubbornly corporeal.

“What would we be doing if the evening had gone as planned, hmm?” she asked when she turned back to face him. “Make a fire, maybe? Make out by a fire, maybe?” She batted her eyelashes at him in a pantomime of flirting.

His lips twitched. “Detective, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe.” She laced her fingers and rested her chin on them, tilting her head and continuing the ridiculous thing she was doing with her eyelashes. “Come on, Lucifer, let’s just have a good time. I’m sure you’ll be feeling more yourself in the morning.”

“It _would_ be a shame to let our time go to waste…” He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his teeth, flicking it at the end. Her eyes followed the movement.

She blinked and shook her head. “That’s, uh, I’ll get some extra firewood from the porch.”

Lucifer grinned at her retreating back, glad to be on familiar footing again.

* * *

When Chloe brought the last armful of firewood inside, she found Lucifer kneeling by the fireplace, arranging logs, his wings held close. They _were_ inconvenient for small spaces. She laid her bundle by the hearth and left him breaking up sticks for kindling.

“That should be enough wood for tonight,” she said. “I’ll grab the wine.”

Once in the kitchen, however, she leaned against the counter and stole a moment to think. She hoped she was doing the right thing going along with his desire to ignore what had happened outside and what was happening with his wings. It wasn’t unreasonable to think putting the stressful experience behind him was what he needed to get back on track. After all, it’s what she often did. Keeping that separation between work and her life was sometimes a battle but essential for her sanity. And it wasn’t like it was her place to force him to open up if he didn’t want to. He tended to deal with things in his own time. Or not. But it was why he had a therapist.

Plus, Lucifer’d gone to a lot of effort to plan this anniversary. His enthusiasm had been infectious, and she’d secretly been looking forward to the trip almost as much since he’d proposed it. Jeremy was safe, and his uncle was under arrest. Lucifer was probably right—there was no reason to let it spoil their night. Besides, there was comfort in physical closeness. She nodded to herself, decided.

On her way back from the kitchen, she detoured to the bedroom. Fishing her toiletries bag out of her suitcase, she found and pocketed a small bottle of lube. Just in case. Things did sometimes tend to get carried away between them.

Lucifer was finishing arranging the kindling when she returned. “Darling, would you grab my lighter? I left it on the counter by the back door.”

Chloe frowned and strode toward him instead, circling around the large wing now dragging on the ground behind his crouched form. She stopped by his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, his brow knitting in question.

“Since when do you need a lighter to start a fire?” she asked. She very well remembered the last time he’d done this.

Some emotion flashed in his eyes, too fast for Chloe to catalogue. “Of course not. My apologies.” He turned his focus to the fireplace.

Chloe watched as the smallest bits of wood began to glow before bursting with the smallest flickers of flame. And then they caught and were alight with licking yellow flame, catching bigger kindling which themselves had begun to glow a cherry red. Mesmerized, Chloe forgot to breath for a moment, her grip tightening on Lucifer’s shoulder.

These things he could do—this thing he could do in particular—they had an effect on her she didn’t understand. A mysterious little thrill that ran through her, leaving her feeling warm from toes to fingertips. Aroused, she felt her cheeks flush. When she could tear her gaze from the flames, she found him looking up at her, waiting. Her lips parted, but she didn’t know how to explain.

“I’d forgotten how much you like that show,” he said in a low voice.

“It’s…really beautiful,” she said, trying to blink away her daze.

“Hmm.” Still looking up, he turned so he was kneeling before her. He licked his lips before biting the lower one. “Have we started more than one fire?”

Chloe’s laugh was cut short when he wrapped one hand around her thigh, above her knee, and it was her turn to bite her lip as he squeezed gently and stroked his thumb along the inseam of her jeans.

She cleared her throat. “Making out…on the couch…was the plan.”

He laughed, taking the same grip on her other leg and standing, lifting her with him without warning. She shot straight up in his sure hold on her thighs. Squealing in surprise, she wrapped her arms around his head for balance. Only once she realized he wasn’t going to drop her did she loosen her grip, leaning on his shoulders instead. His amused chuckle tickled against her belly and breathless mirth spilled out of her mouth.

“Lucifer!” she gasped between laughs, ducking as he moved and her head swung close to the ceiling. “Put me down! I’m too tall!”

He paused, looking up at her with eyes twinkling with mischief. “As you wish.” He dropped his hands—and she was falling down the length of his body. She barely had time to yelp before he caught her ass in strong fingers. “Got you,” he said near her ear, giving her cheeks a firm squeeze before lowering her feet to the floor.

“You!” she sputtered, pointing at him as she took a step forward. “You are”—he stepped backward as she advanced—“very”—the backs of his knees hit the couch—“very”—she gave him a little push—“ _very_ ”—his wings fluttered behind him as he bounced onto the cushion—“lucky”—she straddled his lap, looming over him—“I like you so much.”

His head tipped back as he followed her movement. She dipped down, meaning to catch his upper lip between hers. Her teeth bumped against his. “Sorry,” she murmured around a laugh before dropping back in, running her tongue along his lower lip before sliding into his warmth to lure his own out to dance against hers. Her fingertips ghosted along his stubble as their lips moved together, fervent where they’d been playful moments before. When she pulled back for a breath, he lifted his head and their noses bumped together.

“You know, I think I _am_ feeling lucky,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

She shook her head, relieved to see that stupid smirk given everything that had happened today. Sitting back, she took him in while her heart strummed a rhythm. Entity-not-to-be-named, but did she love this idiot.

Lucifer’s hands slid down her sides until they came to rest on her hips. Then, quick as a whip, he’d changed his grip to feel around her jeans… “Is that lube in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Chloe bit her lip, trying to stop her smile from spilling into laughter again. “Yes,” she agreed, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw, his neck, the base of his throat. “Now shut up.”

Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt while her lips fluttered along his collarbone. Soon, the shirt was open, and she was pulling his shirttails from his trousers. His fingers dug into her hair, and he pulled her up until her lips brushed against his. His other hand stroked down her spine and lingered at the small of her back before journey upward again.

She planted her hand against his side and then slowly quested downward, pressing over his abs and his fluttering stomach, and down further, over his belt, until she found him, already at half-mast. She cupped him through his trousers, swallowing his gasp and then a moan far-too-decadent not to be a little put on.

She let him go, and he buried his face in her hair with a disappointed groan. Her fingers traced his belt buckle instead, before slowly teasing it open and then the button below. Chloe could feel tension building in him with each move and drew her hand away to trace back up his chest instead. After a year together, she knew his body fairly well. That was enough for now.

“Tease,” he whined, lips brushing the hair by her ear.

“Patience,” she replied. She pushed shirt-and-jacket over his shoulders before realizing… “Uh, problem.”

His head tilted forward. It took a moment for him to focus on her, and Chloe tamped down on the urge to kiss him again. Instead, she gave the fabric a tug to illustrate. He blinked and drew his eyebrows drew together, lips forming an ‘o’ of realization, and then she felt him tense under her.

“Feathery nuisances…”

Lucifer moved to sit up, hands moving to her hips to lift her off, but she pushed back on his shoulder to keep him in place. He acquiesced, leaning back with a sigh.

“I don’t get it. They don’t tear the fabric, so why…?” Her brow scrunched. How had she never really thought about it before?

His shoulders moved under her hands in a shrug. “It’s difficult to explain. They just _are_. Always both tangible and intangible. Yet the more manifested they are, the more ‘real.’ Unfortunately, right now they are fully corporeal.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?” His eyebrow rose, affronted. “I try to explain the divine, and I get a ‘huh’?”

“Yeah, huh.” She ran the pad of her thumb over his pout. “And still a problem.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Wait here. I have an idea.”

She flipped on the kitchen lights and began searching drawers—the drawer of silverware from earlier, and another with a hodgepodge of cooking utensils. Nothing useful. The next one stuck, swollen, only to jerk open with a screech, revealing…nothing more than a couple of singed pot holders. Finally, a drawer of mismatched knives: all cheap, none sharp. She pushed plastic handles aside, revealing…ah ha!

When she returned to the main room, she held up the kitchen shears triumphantly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are those for the clothes or the wings? I’m not a bloody chicken.”

Her lips thinned, not appreciating the joke given what she knew he’d done in the past. “Turn around, will you?”

“I’m not letting you cut up a ten thousand dollar suit, Detective!”

Chloe tilted her head, giving him a look. “You’re planning on wearing that indefinitely, then?”

He blinked at her with wide eyes, jutting out his lower lip. It was very ridiculous and very sexy and very much reminded her of what the current dilemma had interrupted.

“Oh, no. You definitely don’t get to pout at me like that _and_ keep your clothes on.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise, but then his lips spread into smirk. “Well, in that case, Detective,” he purred. “Come divest me.”

She made a circling gesture, and he complied, turning to rest his forearms on the back of the couch. Stepping close, she laid her hand above one wings, inspecting where it came through the suit. And it really did come _through_ the suit. She’d been focused on more serious problems the one time she’d seen this before, and he’d been shirtless every time she’d seen his wings since.

Focusing on it now, the fabric lay and moved in a way that shouldn’t have been possible with limbs pushed through it… It made her a little dizzy to examine too closely. So she focused on getting a grip on his collar and cutting a line down the center of his shirt and jacket both.

Just as she made the first cut, Lucifer let out a sudden breath. She froze for a moment before she realized it had only been a _very_ dramatic sigh.

“Lucifer, it’s just a suit.”

“It’s not _just_ a suit. It’s Armani!”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she teased, letting him deflect, as she continued parting the fabric.

“Too late now, regardless. Yet another suit ruined. I should keep a tally.”

“Well, this one, at least, you can’t hold against the LAPD.”

Her scissors stuck more than once as the fabric bunched and gummed up the smooth sweep of the shears, but she found a rhythm and soon she’d cut a line halfway down his back. She hoped that would be enough to allow her to work around the wings. She turned to the left one first.

Wings met flesh along the sweep of his back. It was going to be a lot of cutting. The long, curving scars he’d once had flashed in her mind. She brushed aside thoughts about what that meant about the damage he’d done himself before she could become overwhelmed.

She wasn’t sure if she’d have to cut all the way around, or if she’d be able to slide the fabric away once she’d cut along one side. Neither made sense because the wings didn’t make sense. She imagined cutting around and then, when he was finally able to put away his wings, seeing crescents of fabric fall to the floor. Something about that made her stomach roil. _Stop thinking and just do, Decker_ , she told herself.

Sweeping small feathers aside from the fabric, she paused to adjust to the extraordinary softness, letting her brain bend around it. When she was ready, she made a cut toward the nearest span of wing, followed by smaller cuts inching her way up the length of the wing. She did her best to keep the scissors away from his back, but as she got in closer the blunt side of the blade slid against him. He drew in a breath and shivered at the cool metal against his skin.

“Sorry. Stay still,” she admonished as she pressed the blades alongside flesh and feathers.

She moved carefully but found a steady rhythm of pulling the cloth taut and holding the feathers away for each snip.

“Hmmmmm.” She heard and felt his hum.

“You okay?”

He titled his head, not quite turning to look at her, and hesitated.

She paused and stroked the hair at the back of his head.

“I find I rather quite like this.” His tone was contemplative. “I don’t know why.”

She had no answer for that, instead playing with his hair for another few moments before sliding her hand down to where his back and wing joined to continue her work. Soon, she reached the top of the long crescent and pushed the loose scraps of fabric over his wing. She ran her finger along feathers and skin, feeling the little ribbon of remaining fabric where she hadn’t been able to cut closely enough. Easily torn, she hoped.

She considered the angle for the rest of the cut and sat back on his knees, twisting her wrist to cut downward. The feathers were easier to sweep aside now that she was moving them with the grain. They slid between her fingers, and she forgot to make the next cut. She closed her eyes and shook her head, gathering herself. From there, the cutting went quickly, and she soon reached the lowest point his wing connected to his back. “There we go,” she said, putting the shears on the cushion beside them. “I’m going to see if I can tear it the rest of the way.”

“I knew you were secretly dying to rip my clothes off.”

Chloe snorted. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t kept that a secret for a while now,” she teased, leaning in to press her lips against his skin just below the nape of his neck as she ran her fingers along the leading edge of his wing, digging in just enough to card the feathers.

She was rewarded by his noises of contented pleasure. He liked when she stroked his wings, she knew. They weren’t like a bird’s—they were so much more sensitive to the touch. Warmer too. Divine mystery, she supposed. She let go to grip suit-and-shirt together above and below her cut, giving a hard pull.

To her relief, the fabric parted and fell loose on the opposite side of his wing without any…metaphysical complications or further cutting. It _still_ made no sense, but she wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Instead, she reached beneath his wing, pushing the remnants of his clothes away as she ensured they were as impossibly free as they seemed.

She leaned in as her arm crept up his side along the long sweep where the wing connected, until her fingers reached his shoulder and her face was nearly buried in his feathers. Her breath stuttered and then she breathed deep, bringing in the scent of warm sheets hanging in the sun and static electricity. She let her forehead fall into the space where plumage and flesh blended, nosing against the smallest feathers, her fingers clutching into the fabric she’d been meaning to slide over his shoulder.

“Detective?” He shifted when she didn’t respond. “Are you still with me?”

“Uh.” She swallowed, forcing herself to pull away. “Yeah. Just got a little distracted.”

“Indeed? As did I. I’m finding this almost worth the destruction of my suit.” His words were breathy, and he shifted beneath her, adjusting his position against the couch. His back flexed and the wings ruffled before settling.

“Right.” Chloe shook herself and drew in a steadying breath. “All right.” She pushed the ruined suit over his shoulder. He accommodated by sliding his arm out of the sleeve, and she shoved the crumpled material to the side below his right wing. “Let’s get the other half off.”

She made quicker work of the right side, even if not all her cuts were as neat. In the silence, she could hear his breathing growing more ragged, and she could feel the fast beat of his heart under her hands.

“There,” she said as she finished the last cut. “All done.” The thin strip of fabric she hadn’t been able to cut didn’t want to tear as easily as the other side, but it eventually gave even though she didn’t have anywhere near his strength…and a thought occurred to her. “Wait, couldn’t you just have torn these off yourself?”

“I _could_ have.”

He shifted to pull the remaining sleeve off his arm, and she climbed off his legs to give him room to turn around, settling next to him on the couch once his wing had swept by.

“But it would’ve been terribly awkward,” he continued. “And you seemed so pleased with your idea that I saw no reason to hold you back. That, and putting myself in your hands was so much more _pleasurable_.”

His voice dropped low as he drew out the last word, and his gaze was on her, dark and hungry. Her eyes flicked down to the erection straining his trousers, fully hard now. The couch’s back cushion was being crushed nearly flat in his grip.

A dizzying flush of fresh arousal swept her. So often, he played the maestro in bed. Yet she savored these moments when his control of his desire slipped through his fingers—the almost bewildered look he’d wear, his deference to her. Lovemaking had been a foreign land when they’d started and even now that they’d laid many way markers of intimacy he still sometimes seemed a traveler washed ashore, dazed but marveling.

“Lucifer,” she whispered, reaching out for the zipper on his half-undone trousers, “you’re beautiful.”

“I bet you say that to all the gir…” His breath hitched as she slid the zip down and slipped her hand inside.

He was hot and full against her palm as she eased him out. Curling her fingers, she gave him a couple of easy strokes before letting go and urging him to lift his hips and slide his trousers down. While he removed them, she tugged off her own jeans, leaving her panties. She retrieved the bottle of lube before she set her jeans aside and dispensed some of the product, warm from her pocket, into her hand.

When Lucifer settled back against the couch, trousers discarded, he looked at her with hooded eyes, his own hand on his cock, thumb rolling his foreskin the rest of the way back. He bit his lip and slowly let it go for her benefit. “Like what you see, then?” he asked, with a little smirk at her shortened breaths.

Chloe batted his fingers away, taking him in her fist again. “Mine.”

“Mmmmmm,” he agreed. “Greedy.”

“Shush. Let me.”

She slipped close, under the arc of his wing. It shifted, molding toward her back, a warm weight even through her sweater. Her hand on him found a rhythm as she nestled close. He watched the movement of her fingers, transfixed. There was nothing put-on in his expression now, only an open vulnerability that she treasured.

When she kissed the underside of his jaw, his head fell back with a sigh. Long fingers had been trailing up and down her arm, but he struggled to find a rhythm and after one firm stroke his hand fell to rest at her hip. She shifted to press herself against his thigh in lazy pulses. Just enough for pleasure; not enough to get too high.

Soon enough, his hips were jerking into her hand despite his clear attempts at control. Chloe ghosted her free hand along the inside of his wings, teasing a low moan from his lips. On her next stroke, she dug her fingers into the feathers, carding downward. His body arched and she rewarded him with a firm stroke. And this time his moan wound around her name.

She savored the beautiful flush that ran up his chest and into his face, the way his lips parted wantonly, the way his eyelashes fluttered, the way his feathers shivered and radiated just the tiniest bit more starlight. Her hand moved faster, squeezing a little more on the down stroke. His neck arched, muscles taut, and he panted each breath.

With a choked gasp, he spilled over her hand, and she gentled her touch, pulling him through his pleasure until it was complete and she rested her hand comfortingly on his abdomen.

Lucifer’s eyes remained closed as he drew breaths through his nose. Chloe rested her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat return to normal. When he’d gathered himself, she rose to collect the tattered dress shirt to wipe her hand and clean him.

“So,” she said.

“So.” The corners of his lips rose, and his eyes twinkled.

“I think we might have moved passed the making-out-on-the-couch part of the evening.”

“Don’t tell me you have other plans, Detective?”

She gave him a disbelieving look.

“Perfect. Your turn.” Before she realized what was happening she was on her back on the couch, and he’d gotten the shears from somewhere. Grinning, he reached for the hem of her sweater, but she snatched it from his reach.

“Oh, no no no no no. I really like this sweater.” She shucked it before he could try to grab it again.

His eye flickered to her bra.

“If you ruin my bra, I will actually murder you,” she warned, even as she unclasped it and tossed it out of reach.

Laughing, he dropped the shears behind the couch. “Pity. I think I should very much have liked to take you lingerie shopping for a replacement or several.”

He gazed at her breasts as he spoke, and Chloe felt her skin prickle, nipples tightening in anticipation of his touch. When his hands settled at her sides, they spanned much of her ribcage while his thumbs stroked along the sides of her breasts. She squirmed, needing more than the slow touch.

“I know, I know,” he murmured.

When he lowered his mouth and took one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth, her lips parted on the most plaintive of moans as her body betrayed her, twisting under him, desperate for contact as she felt a gush of wet warmth between her legs. The heat of her blush nearly consumed her.

Smiling, he raised his head and hooked a finger under her chin, drawing her lips close to his. “I love when I have you like this,” he told her. “No reason to be shy.”

He kissed her, soft lips tender against hers, gentle, too gentle, in comparison to the fire raging inside her. But before she could demand more, he dropped his head back to her breast while his thumb lightly stroked her other nipple. He hummed his satisfaction against her flesh, the vibration sending tingles all the way to her toes. She looked down the length of their bodies and saw he was stroking himself. Yes, she wanted him inside her, and he knew it.

He tilted his head, resting on her breast, to look up at her. She sighed as her nipple slipped from his lips. His breath tickled on the wetness before he began lowering himself along her, ghosting his fingertips down her stomach until they reached her panties. Looking up to make sure she was watching, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic and lifted them, stretching the material away from her, before easing the garment down. She groaned as he denied her even the friction of the fabric.

“Are you going to tease all night?” she demanded.

He chuckled, damn him. “Not at all, my dear. Actually…” He gently slid the scrap of fabric over one foot, then the other, absentmindedly kneading her calf as his eyes swept up and down her form. “There’s something I’ve been thinking we could try… Something I think you’d like…especially when you’re like this…”

Her brows drew together as she looked down to where he perched on the sofa’s arm at her feet. “L-like what?” Her breath hitched as his fingers skimmed up toward her knee.

He kept his caresses light as his thumb traced circles in the soft crook of her knee. “So…ready to let go.”

She sucked in a breath. He was right. As much as she’d been enjoying having control earlier, her body hungered for him to make her lose it now. Before they had come together, she had not imagined it was possible for someone to know her desire nearly as well as she did.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Is it something you like?”

“Actually, it’s something I haven’t tried before.”

“Really? How is that possible?”

His expression was amused, and he climbed from the couch without answering. Chloe sat up, letting her bare feet swing to the floor. He stepped back, drawing up to his full height, in complete comfort with his nudity. Chloe swallowed, eyes sweeping over his beautiful form until they settled on his arousal, pressing up against his stomach, dark against his paler flesh in the warm flicker of the firelight. Chloe felt an answering ache in her core as her mouth went dry. He cleared his throat, and her gaze flickered up. Feathers rustled behind him.

Lucifer stretched his wings to their full span, each feather flexing and stretching before falling into place, arrayed in absolute perfection. Firelight reflected on the nearer one in reds and oranges, but that lesser light could not diminish the soft white glow from the wings themselves. Chloe’s breath caught. This was how they were meant to be seen. Displayed.

“What…?”

“It occurred to me,” he said, “that we’ve neglected some _possibilities_.”

He held out his hand, and Chloe took it, letting herself be drawn closer until they stood just a breath apart. Entranced by the dancing firelight reflecting in his eyes, she heard but didn’t see his wings move. But when she felt the first touch of wings fluttering along her back and thighs, she realized he’d wrapped them around her.

A tremor ran through them both as feathers glided along bare skin, whisper soft and yet firmly pressing into her flesh. Her rapid inhalation matched the breath he drew in through his nose. He cupped her face and brushed his lips against hers. When his wings pulled her close, she pushed herself onto her toes, pressing her breasts against his chest and canting her hips toward his hardness pressed between them.

“This is nice,” she murmured. Nice but nothing they hadn’t done before. “What…?”

But then his wings were shifting, a cascade of caressing feathers shivered along her skin. She was lost in the whirlwind of sensation until she felt her toes leave the ground. She was being…lifted…by the curving wings. Lucifer’s hands fell to her waist to steady her. Even in her confusion, she continued to tilt her hips against him, seeking, seeking, sighing as she pressed herself along the base of his hardness. His hands tightened on her waist, and his lips laid burning kisses along her throat. She thrust against him, needing…but the wings were ruffling again, sparking pleasure across her body anew even as she lost the contact where she was hungriest, as she was being drawn back, away…

They were tilting, no, _she_ was being tilted, even as Lucifer stood steady. She jerked, grabbing his arms to steady herself, afraid of falling back as the angle became precipitous.

“Relax,” he reassured. “I’ve got you. Lean back.”

Then she understood. He meant to hold her in his wings which he was shifting into a cradle. Still, she hesitated, her instincts not wanting to believe anything so soft could hold her. One of his hands left her waist, reaching up to caress her face, to tuck her hair tenderly behind her ear, before guiding her down.

“Trust me,” he said. Asked. Pleaded. She wasn’t sure which. “Let go.”

And so she did, letting herself settle into the bed of feathers. And just as he promised, they held her secure. Steady as falling into a canvas hammock but soft, softer then air. Floating. She was floating. She turned her cheek rubbing it into the softness.

“Stay with me, Detective.”

His voice called to her like a beacon, and she opened her eyes, forcing herself back into the moment. He grinned, pleased with himself. She blushed and knew the flush must have spread down her body. His purr of approval only confirmed it.

“Good?”

“Yeah.” Understatement.

As the wings began to shift and tilt again, bringing her closer and closer to horizontal, she relaxed into the feeling of weightlessness.

When he stopped moving, she heard him murmur, “marvelous,” wonder dripping from the word. When he looked down at her now, his smug smile was gone. Raising her hands above her head, she stretched luxuriously, rubbing her body against his wings seeking the little blazes of pleasure everywhere feathers fluttered, knowing, too, how sensitive they became for him when he was this aroused.

He groaned, and his fingers tightened on her hips, a sudden point of focus a breath from painful. She stilled, and her eyes rose to meet his. His hunger was written across his face in a language plain to her, and oh her coiled desire was slithering inside her.

“Lucifer…”

It was a request and a command all at once, and he understood, for he pulled her hips to him. She watched his face as he pressed into her. Eyes closed. Jaw tight and neck straining. She shifted and relaxed, welcoming him inside. When he was seated within, his eyes fluttered open, dark, dark, and she had the stray thought she maybe could look into them forever… And then he was moving, and it was too much sensation. She could already feel the places deep inside her dropping and tightening and readying for the wave that was coming

Arms still stretched above her head, Chloe began dragging her spread fingers along his feathers. She dug her fingers in: to steady herself; to return the pleasure. Lucifer groaned, and the movement of his hips stuttered before he thrust hard, tearing a moan from her lips.

He held his wings steady even as his hips snapped faster and faster. Her hands found the leading edge of his wings to brace herself as he took her hard. She didn’t doubt she’d have bruises on her hips from his fingertips. But she was losing track, losing track, losing track of anything other than the storm building inside her and the electric cloud holding her. Her fingers tightened on the arches of his wings as her eyes fell closed. She was floating and falling. She was suspended over a precipice. Held up only where their bodies were joined, and yet she longed to fall over. Closer and closer but not quite…and then the long feathers under her legs were shifting, circling around, around, until they were caressing the insides of her thighs…

And she was falling, falling, floating and falling, swore she smelled ozone…and she surrendered to the storm.

*****

Later, when she fell asleep, tucked in on a too small mattress with two big wings, she dreamt of tender touches, a strong bed of soft feathers, and a face he wouldn’t show her.

* * *

Chloe awoke to the distant scrape-scrape-scrape of a shovel. Disorientation swooped over her and she wrestled her way through the fringes of sleep. Right. The cabin. She was snug under unfamiliar covers, her partner sleeping by her side. He was breathing deeply, face mashed into a pillow. Adorable. Her lips twitched even as her eyes flickered shut again. She lingered in the lazy lethargy of the moment until her bladder’s call became too insistent. Easing back the blankets, she slowly swung pajama-clad legs to the floor, taking care to let Lucifer sleep.

The aroma of coffee tickled her nose. So he had been up. She studied him from the bathroom doorway. One wing was flopping off the bed behind him, puddling on the floor, and the other was bunched up along his back, trailing the length of his leg. Her shoulders slumped. If he’d been up, he would’ve put them away if he could.

She turned the problem over in her head as she stole into the kitchen and poured her coffee. Ignoring the issue clearly wasn’t working. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her ankles, mug held in laced fingers. The incident with Jeremy seemed almost designed to push Lucifer’s buttons. She certainly understood his fury with Christopher Reisner, why he’d decided to show his devil face. Yet that was something she knew—from the quivering and sobbing perps left behind—he’d done many times before. So why was this time different?

Nothing came to her and she realized she hadn’t taken a sip of her coffee. Mug in hand, she wandered into the main room where clothes lay puddled where they’d been discarded in haste. She blushed recollecting the night before. A peel of laughter rang from outside. Remembering it had been snowing, she padded to the front door. After donning her coat over her pajamas and slipping on her boots, she ventured onto the porch.

A breath of crisp air caught in her lungs. The cabins had been transformed overnight. Pristine white blanketed the structures and the gravel lot, bestowing a quaint beauty on what had been dingy and rundown just hours earlier. Three children were chasing each other in slow-motion circles in front of a cabin across the lot, laughter and squeals breaking the otherwise muffled quiet. Across the lot and once again in her purple parka, Charlene was shoveling a path to one of the cabins. She’d already shoveled from the office to the center of the parking lot and to three of the cabins. From the depth of the trench she was creating, Chloe judged more than a foot had fallen. Sipping her coffee, Chloe watched the progress.

After Charlene finished her current path, she propped the shovel by the office and lit a cigarette. Chloe set her empty mug on the porch rail and headed over to catch her on her break. Charlene looked up and nodded Chloe’s way as she waded through the snow toward the shoveled path.

“Sorry I didn’t get to your cabin yet.” Charlene flicked her cigarette into a rusted coffee can nailed to the porch rail behind her and picked up her shovel. “Bad habit.”

“It’s fine.” Chloe gestured down to her high boots, realizing too late she was also highlighting the pajama pants tucked into them. “I think we’re staying in today, anyway. But I was wondering if the cabin is free if we want to stay an extra night?”

“No problem at all,” Charlene said. “Besides, we’re going to have to wait for the plows to get up here.”

The possibility of missing Christmas flashed through Chloe’s mind. “When is that likely to be?”

“I called my husband down in town earlier. Snow was a lot lighter down there. Plows should be able to get up here by tomorrow. But just in case”—she shrugged—“if there’s anything you guys need, we’ve got most of the basics and plenty more in the camp store.”

Chloe thanked her and tromped back to the porch of her cabin. Before she went in, she pulled out her phone and dialed Dan.

“Hey. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Cabin getaway getting boring already?”

 _No, no, not at all_. “I wanted to check in. We got a bunch of snow in the mountains. Might get stuck up here an extra night”—hopefully _just_ an extra night, snow not being the only issue—“and I wasn’t sure how the roads would be getting up to Tahoe.”

“Yeah, I was looking at that this morning. Looks like the worst snow is up where you are. Roads should be okay, so we’re still planning on heading out tomorrow. We might wait to leave a little later and stop the night somewhere on the way up.”

Chloe chuckled. “Mom is going to be _so bored_ by herself.”

“I think she’ll survive.” Dan’s sarcasm came through loud and clear.

“Barely,” Chloe agreed.

Laughter flowed over the line from both ends.

“Okay, keep me posted. I’ll let you know our plans once we figure things out. Is Trix up yet?”

“Nah.”

“All right. Give her my love. The selfies she sent last night from the holiday market were adorable. I can’t believe they had a snow machine.”

“L.A.” She could hear the shrug in his voice. “It was a lot of fun, _and_ we got our last shopping done. She’ll be much more excited for real snow, though.”

After they said their goodbyes, Chloe headed inside. She left her snow-covered boots on a mat by the door and rehung her coat. Lucifer was moving around the kitchen, and she could smell butter cooking. She folded the clothes scattered around the room and left them in the bedroom before joining him.

Feathers blocked her view of the counters and stove where he worked. Black silk pants caught the light as he moved, and she saw the canvas loops of an apron around his neck and tied around his waist below the wings.

Chloe set the table with the dishes waiting in the drying rack from last night and poured herself a fresh coffee. A whiff of lemon and perhaps lavender drifted her way. When she tried for a glimpse of what Lucifer was cooking, a wing rose to block her view. She batted at the feathery wall, but he didn’t relent.

“Patience, Detective. There’s Guava juice in the fridge. Why don’t you pour that and have a seat.”

Chloe was shooting a quick update text to her mom when a platter of fluffy pancakes floated down in front of her. Lucifer dished a couple onto each of their plates.

“Lavender-ricotta-blackberry,” he pronounced.

She vowed to let Lucifer order the groceries for any future cabin trips as she poured a generous helping of maple syrup over her plate. Tilting her fork, she broke into the first pancake, finding it fluffy and tender. She savored her first bite, better even than the luscious aroma promised.

“Lucifer! These are…”

“Orgasmic?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. That’s absolutely what I was going to say.”

“Naturally.”

While they ate, Lucifer chattered about the upcoming schedule at Lux, how bad his brother had been at bluffing at a poker night Dan had hosted, and a bet he had going with Trixie about who would give the best presents. That last she made a note to talk to Trixie about when everyone got to her mom’s place.

Chloe hummed in satisfaction as she scooped the last forkful of syrup-soaked deliciousness into her mouth. Quite sure she couldn’t eat another bite, she shoved her plate toward the middle of the table before Lucifer could pile another pancake on it.

She hated ruining the mood, but… “So, no better luck this morning?” she asked, tilting her head at his wings.

“Still stuck.” He gathered up the plates and whisked them to the counter by the sink.

She cranked her head to face him. “Any new ideas?”

“Nope.” His sideways chair wobbled and creaked as he fell back into it.

“Want to brainstorm?” She kept her tone light, putting the ball in his court.

“Not really,” he groused. “But I suppose we should.”

“Okay.” Chloe considered and decided maybe it was best to start from the beginning. Or, perhaps not the beginning, but the beginning as far as she knew it. “So, you didn’t have wings when we met. Because you had Maze cut them off.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“I hardly see how this is helping.”

“Humor me.”

“I…had decided to stay in L.A. I wanted to make clear it was permanent.”

Chloe knew well enough there was so much more behind those words, but she nodded, moving on for the time being. “And then you got them back. When you were kidnapped in the desert, right?”

He nodded again.

“And that was when you lost your devil face for a while, too.” She’d gotten bits and pieces of the story from him before, but wanted to run through the facts logically.

“Really, where are you going with this?”

“Are they connected? Your wings and your devil face?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve had both for most of my life.” His fingers splayed against the table, knuckles whitening. “But it’s my wings, not my face, that’s the issue, isn’t it? Stick to the problem at hand, Detective.”

Alarm klaxons blared in Chloe’s head. He slammed that door every time she encroached too close to his more devilish side.

“You tried to show me that face once, didn’t you?”

He nodded, eyes narrowing, arms folding across his chest, a barrier between them.

“In the evidence lab,” she continued. “And you couldn’t.” She paused, raising an eyebrow when he didn’t respond.

The silence crawled between them for several audible ticks from the clock on the wall, but at last he gave another curt nod. “Would’ve been a disaster if I could’ve, I suppose.”

That stung. “Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps not. We’ll never know, because it didn’t work. Why?”

His eyes moved across her face, and his fingers twitched. But it was the wings that gave him away. They fluttered with nervous energy. He wanted to run away.

She reached out and laid a hand on one of his. “Tell me. Please.”

He slumped back with a put-upon sigh, but she knew he would answer if she waited him out.

“My brother had a theory. A theory that maybe we controlled everything. His powers, his wings; my wings, my devil face. That we did it to ourselves. Subconsciously, as Dr. Linda would say.” His words came slowly, as if he was weighing each one. “If that’s true, and at this point I’m inclined to believe it is, I gave myself my devil face in the first place. And I also took it away, gave myself back the wings. That’s why I couldn’t show you in the lab that day.”

Chloe stared. That was too much. The idea and the implications. She snapped her mouth closed when she realized it had fallen open.

“Why would you make yourself look…?” She took a deep breath. “Was it something you needed to do for Hell, or…?” She spread her hands, at a loss.

“I didn’t bloody well do it intentionally,” he snapped. His lips twisted, but when she squeezed his hand, he continued, “I had just fallen. I burned. I should have healed, did in fact heal. But when I saw my face, I was still burned, monstrous. I think…I felt like a monster, and so I was.”

Chloe drew in a breath. “Oh, Lucifer…”

“No,” he cut her off. “I wasn’t an innocent, and it was hardly without reason that everyone hated me. And you are right, in a way. The face _was_ useful in Hell. I did the job my Father wanted, and it was a very effective tool.” For a moment, his gaze unfocused, and Chloe could tell he was remembering another time. But then he shook himself. “But Hell is in the past, and I’m not going back.”

But the devil face _was_ back, Chloe didn’t point out. She refocused on cataloguing the recent history of his wings. “All right. So if you gave yourself back your wings in the desert, why did that happen?”

His eyes darted toward the dishes waiting to be washed next to the sink, and the silence dragged on. Chloe realized she was asking more of him than maybe was fair, but she didn’t see another way around the current situation than through.

“Look,” she said. “I’m thinking if there’s a reason you got them back in the desert, maybe there’s a similar reason they’re stuck now.”

He continued looking toward the sink, but at last shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I—”

The clock ticked on as he gathered his thoughts. Chloe was tempted to get up and remove the batteries.

At last, he went on. “I didn’t consciously want the wings, mind. But I think it happened because I was feeling good about some decisions I’d made, and I associated that with…it’s bollocks really. But I can tell you with certainty I _wasn’t_ feeling good about anything last night. So whatever this is, it’s something different.”

Chloe was thinking that over when he stood without preamble and went to the sink. The sound of water from the tap was clearly intended to preclude further questioning as he began to wash the breakfast dishes. Chloe let her head fall into her hands, and dug her fingers into her hair. She’d just have to keep trying.


End file.
